
V, 



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Class _ 

CofiyrighlN^ . 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 



SPIRIT e;choe:s 



-B\- 



/ 

MATTIE E. HULL, 



Xuthor of ''Wayside Jottings'' and ''Spiritual 
Songster.'' 



None but an author, knows an author's cares, 
Nor Fancy's fondness for tlic child she bears. 

—Cowper. 



IMPI'KUO, N. y. 

MOSES HULL A CO., 

MLY DALE, N. V. 

RUNFLOWBR PUBLISHING CO. 

1901. 



-?s>^'>'^,%'] 



.\\3^^ 



THE LlSiHARY OF 

CONC-^ESS. 
Two Cot»i£S Received 

IAN. 7 1902 

COPVmoHT ENTRV 

CLASS Cc^XXc No. 

lis M ^ 
COPY 0. 



Copyright 1901 bj 
\f ATTIE E. HULL. 



TO ilY ARISEN TEACHKRS, WHOSE WISDOM AND COUNSELS 
HAYB DONE SO MUCH FOR ME, AND TO MY BELOVED 
ASSOCIATES IN THE SCHOOL OF LIFE, WHOSE 
LOVE AND ENCOURAGEMENT HAVE 
HELPED TO MAKE ME WHAT 1 
AM, THIS VOLUME IS AF- 
FECTIONATELY DED- 
ICATED. 



PREFACE. 

When my former book, Wayside Jottings, was 
published, I had no thought that another volume 
would find its way to the press. Probably 
nothing has been more instrumental in inspiring 
me to present Spirit Echoes to the world, than 
the general favor with which Wayside Jottings 
was received, and the repeated request by those 
who take a kindly interest in my work, that 
other of my writings should be published. 

The poems contained in this volume, have, with 
few exceptions, been written within two years. 
The extempore lines have found a place herein, 
by the request of those who gave subjects on 
which the lines were given. The chief merit of 
the poem called ''Christmas-Tide," is in the fact 
that it was a test poem to the one who gave 
the subject. The circumstances under which it 
was given, and the incidents connected with the 
person who gave the subject are presented in an 
explanatory note at the heading of the poem. 

The prose paragraphs were jotted down when- 



PREFACE. T 

ever and wherever the inspiration came to write; 
sometimes on the railroad trains, in the home 
attending to household duties, at others when 
on solitar3^ rambles, and not imfrequentl^^ during 
the night. 

I have written more since the publication of 
Wayside Jottings, than at any period of my life, 
but my w^ork has been principalh^ in the line of 
essa3^s, on subjects which would be out of place 
in a volume of this kind. 

I trust 1 may not be deemed egotistical when 
I make the statement, I leel I am doing the best 
work of my life at present and that better things 
are before me. I do not take all the credit to 
myself, my friends have been a great help to 
me, and my lo^^al companion has added more 
than I can tell to my wealth of inspiration; my 
invisible teachers and counsellors have alwa\\s 
been ready to respond when I have made it 
possible for them to do so. 

Spirit Echoes goes to the world with the soul- 
appreciation for all that has come to brighten 
and make better the life of its author. If it has 
a corresponding effect upon its readers, the prayer 
of the author will have been answered. 

Mattie E. Hull. 



CONTENTS. 



PARK 

From Soul to Soul ------ 9 

Invocation - - - 13 

The Web of Life. --.-.. 14. 

Mv Creed - 16 

Have Hope - - 18 

The All lk One 20 

A Better Way ..-..-- 21 

The Midnight Hour 22 

To the Absent 24 

I Cannot Tell 27 

Prayer is the Soul's Sincere Desire - - 28 

Only a Woman vSO 

CORONADO 33 

The Conquered - 36 

Thomas Paine 39 

May - . . 41 

The Soul's Sculptor 43 

My Inner Room 45 

Things Beyond Our Senses - - . . 47 

The Christmas-Tide 49 

The Wonderful Silence 52 

The Two Singers 54 

Guide Me Aright 56 

Just You and I 58 

Great Spirit of Eternal Truth ... 60 



COXTEXTS. vii 

PAGK 

I Cannot Tkli. 61 

A Revekie - 62 

Ax Impromptu ox the Receptiox of a Boiouet 64- 

What of the Xigiit? 66 

The Chaxge 70 

The Price of VnrruE 72 

Paradoxes 73 

The Humax Heart 75 

The Angel's Message 76 

Some Things That Have no Knd - - - - 81 

False Prophecies 82 

Our Victories 85 

'Tis no New Tale ------- 86 

Why - - - - 90 

Ministry 92 

Go Forth My Soul 94- 

Heart to Heart - 96 

Incompleteness ------- 98 

The Lost Voice ------- 99 

Fnappreciated Blessings 100 

My Prayer - - 102 

Cruel Words - 104- 

SlMlLES - - 105 

Answers --------- 106 

Reaching For Sunbeams ----- 108 

Retrospection - - - - - - - - 110 

Lost in the Air ------- ill 

The Anniversary of Modern Spiritualism - 112 

Undiscovered Truths ------ 115 

A PlCTLTlE --------- 117 

The Young and the Old ' - - - - 118 

To THE Evangels of Truth - - - - - 120 



FROM SOUL TO SOUL. 

My friend, I cannot ope the door so wide 
That even thou canst step within the room 
Where I hold close the treasures I have found 
In the short journey of life's changing years. 
Treasures? ah, yes, worthless to all but me; 
I gathered them beneath the shade and sun, 
Low in the vale, and on the mountain-side; 
B^^ purling stream, and ocean's wave-washed 

sands; 
In swamps of darkness and in fields most fair. 

Sometimes I gather up m^- wealth in tears — 
Tears that seemed wrung from fountains of the 

soul; 
Tears that so blinded in those wearv days, 
I could not tell the gems from trifling stones. 
And in this room, sacred to self alone, 
Are cherished tablets, bearing many a mark, 
And blot and blemish of misguided will; 
Others that glisten with the radiant smiles 



10 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

That tender words and kindly deeds have 

wrought; 
And there are fabrics that festoon the walls, 
Making some places bright and wond'rous fair, 
Woven with golden threads that love has spun. 
And hanging on the walls of this, my room, 
Are pictures such as artists never paint; 
I cannot always see these pictures rare; 
They hang so high above the shades of earth, 
That when I seek to view, I needs must climb 
Unto a higher consciousness of things. 
And echoing through the arch- way of my room, 
Are rare, sweet songs that none but I can hear; 
Their music never has been trilled by voice, 
The words have ne'er been lisped by mortal 

tongue; 
Soft as the breeze that sings the flowers to sleep, 
Or lifts the tendrils from the lattice bar, 
So softly falls this spirit melody 
Into my soul of souls. 
It quells the harshness of my lower self; 
Fills up Life's measure with a sweet content. 
And all the bitterness, and hate, and wrong 
That I had nursed in hours of selfish pride. 
The music drowns beneath the songs of love. 
I do not find within my narrow range 
Aught but I gather by unvarying law; 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 11 

All souls may find within their inner state 
Loveliest flowers, and groves of fruited bloom, 
They read the symbols such as Souls may write 
And learn that love will crown all beautiful. 
No soul can hold monopoly of wealth, 
For each will gather from its plane in life 
The wheat and tares, from sowing all its own. 

Do not expect, O, Pilgrim on the way, 
That other souls can treasure wealth for thee; 
Nor that another hand, though deft and skilled 
Can hang thine inner life with pictures rare. 
Do not lament because the din of earth 
Yields naught but harshness to the finer sense; 
There is a soul within thee, waiting now 
To ope the door, when thou shalt will it so; 
And then, when once across the threshold line. 
Heaven's messengers shall whisper holy things; 
Quickened, awakened, then th3^ thought will be 
Set to the music of diviner spheres. 

And beloved Pilgrim, shrink not when the 

storm 
Hangs in its fury all about thy path; 
Storms are of earth and e'er must pass away; 
The lovliest paths must lead 'neath shade and 

sun; 



12 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

Daylight and a darkness, nurse the bud to 

bloom; 
The cruel rains may beat the star-eyed flowers 
And 3^et they nourish all the dainty roots; 
And never is their fragrance half so sweet 
As when the crystal drops like jewels hang 
Upon their drooping leaves. 

O, weary, waiting Pilgrim on the way; 

To thee I dedicate my humble song. 

I fain would waken in my inmost soul 

A longing hunger for the ''Bread of Life." 

I fain would make thee feel there is a world 

Around, within thee, onW waiting time, 

When thou, with trusting faith may ope the 

door 
That leads unto the inner, sacred room. 
Where thou with thine own soul may ever be 
Companioned through all time. 



I 

SPIRIT ECHOES. 13 



INVOCATION. 



O, Angels, come to us this hour; 
Come to us now and freely give 
The precious truths we would receive, 
For in your words we do believe, 
Dear Angels Friends, O come, O come. 

O, Angels, come to us this hour; 
Waiting we long to meet you here 
For comfort sweet, and words of cheer, 
We long to feel your presence near; 
Dear Angel Friends, O come, O come. 

Dear Angels, come to us this hour; 
Your loving help we now implore. 
Be with us till earth toils are o'er 
Then lead us to the beauteous shore, 
Dear Angel Friends, O come, O come. 



14 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE WEB OF LIFE. 



Weaving and weaving day after day, 
Threading the shuttle the same old way; 
Pushing the treadles with weary feet, 
Wondering oft if the lines will meet; 
As I study the pattern the Master hangs 
To be faithfullv copied In^ these weak hands. 

Weaving oft with an aching brain, 

Counting the threads with throbs of pain; 

Weaving sometimes what Hope has spun 

And colors brighten as I weave on; 

But the threads grow weak — soon the colors 

pale 
And I know when tested the threads will fail. 

Weaving sometimes Love's threads of gold; 
What beautiful patterns these fancies hold. 
In the glow of my pride a thread will break, 
Though shining the web, the mesh is weak 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 15 

The warp and woof spread wide apart 
I re-thread my shuttle with heavy heart. 

Weary of weaving what Pleasure spins, 
Striving to strengthen the web so thin; 
Weary of watching for threads that hold — 
Threads that will strengthen the sombre fold 
But I ply the loom with firmer tread 
As I fill the shuttle with Duty's thread. 

Weaving still weaving the same old way, 
But the web grows stronger every day; 
The warp and woof are of homely hue, 
Yet at times they brighten and glisten so, 
That I sing with joy o'er my daily task 
For Love is with me in Duty's mask. 

Weaving and weaving, O, wonderful loom! 
Sleeping or waking the work goes on; 
Inward and outward the shuttle flies, 
Much of the work was at first disguised; 
The lovely pattern I did not see 
Till one more wise had shown it to me. 



16 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



MY CREED. 



I do not ask how one doth pray, 
Whether in church on bended knee, 

Or in his room at close of day. 
He calls his angels silently. 

I care not what may be his creed. 
Who lives to do the best he can. 

And strives by every thought and deed 
To elevate his brother man. 

I ask not what one may have been, 

If now he reaches for the light- 
Striving to overcome his sin, 
And prays henceforth to walk aright. 

I would not nurse a bitter hate 

'Gainst any church, its cant or prayer, 

If some poor hungry soul is fed 
That could not find his food elsewhere. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. IT 

I would not ask his faith in God, 
Who leaves at the poor widow's door 

In winter time, fuel or food, 
Or nione3% from his generous store. 

Humanity is better far 

Than an^^ church, on whate'er plan, 
And he is a true worshipper 

Of God, who serves his fellow man. 

^5* f^^ t^^ 

There is a kind of namby-pamby goodness 
that passes for virtue; and those who possess it 
are spoken of as never having had an enemy in 
the world. Some people never have an oppor- 
tunity of becoming absoluteh^ bad. The^^ are 
never strongly tempted; have no passions to 
overcome and no particular weakness to out- 
grow. Such, are negatively good. The truly 
virtuous are those who have resisted tempta- 
tions, and the morally strong are those who 
have been able to raise from bad environments 
into the atmosphere of a pure, sweet life. It is 
no sign of greatness or of goodness on the part 
of a man, that no ill word has ever been used 
against him. It is positive goodness that helps the 
down-trodden, and builds up a l)ettcr humanity. 



IS SPIRIT ECHOES. 



HAVE HOPE. 



Be faithful, O, my Soul, to ever3^ cluty; 

Faint not nor falter on the uphill \va3'; 
A morn must follow every night-time truly, 

And after morn must come the open day. 

Pause not to nurse the palm that has been 
wounded 

By piercing thorns, to eye-sight ne'er disclosed; 
But look upon the cruel stalk more closeh^ 

And thou mayst find the budding of a rose. 

Nay, weary spirit, do not feel thy angels 
Will e'er forsake in hours of deepest gloom; 

Perchance that heaven may send more wise 
evangels, 
And bid thine back, to give the greater room. 

Do not nurse dreams that shroud the day with 
sorrow, 
Unfitting all the hours for joy and love; 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 19 

For who can tell but the unborn to-morrow 
May bring a light all shadows to remove. 

Have hope 'mid all things, whatsoe'er assail thee; 

Be strong in faith that all will end in right; 
Then in no hour shall all th^^ courage fail thee, 

And ever\' cloud will bear some tinge of light. 

ft^" t^^ 9^^ 

One whisper from the unseen shore, or one 
touch of a spirit hand, coming directh' to us 
while closeted with our thoughts, brings more 
satisfaction than scores of manifestations from 
any cabinet possibly could, even under the most 
strict test conditions. 

J^ J^ J^ 

Many of us have felt at times an inspiration 
that stirs the depths within us — we are convinced 
of spirit communion, and the spirit world be- 
comes a reality; but who among the most thor- 
oughly convinced can impart the knowledge to 
another? Admitting the phenomena, and the 
genuineness of mediums, there is always an un- 
known side which even the medium and the 
most earnest Spiritualist does not understand. 



20 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE ALL L\ ONE. 

I do not ask for special grace, 

I strive to feel all souls are kindred here: 
And he who has not grasped this truth divine, 

Is not yet large enough to "lead in pra^-er." 
One is for all; and all for each should pray 
"Lead us, and guide us, on the upward way/^ 

All hearts are bound by ties of human blood; 

And soul responds to soul the best it can; 
This great, wide world holds but one brotherhood, 

God-service rendered, is but love to man. 
And he who seeks to bear this message forth 
Helps to build up a paradise on earth. 

As the low shrub and large majestic oak 
Grow side b}^ side, each nursed hj Nature's 
plan, 

So human souls were into being spoke, 
Bearing the impress of progressive man. 

No line, man in his selfishness would draw, 

Ftits in this union broken link or flaw. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 21 



A BETTER WAY. 



"And vet show I unto you a more excellent way." 

1 Cor. xii. 31. 

Better be wronged an hundred times 
Than to inflict one needless pain 

Upon a soul; a heart we break 
We cannot heal again. 

Better be honest with the world 
And toil each da^- for humble fore, 

Than in proud luxur^^ to roll 
And cringe one hour in craven fear. 

Better be humble than to wear 
An honor bought by glittering gold; 

True virtue need no symbol bear; 
Goodness can ne'er be bought or sold. 

Better be true and stand alone 

Than wnth the host 'mid loud applause; 
Truth hath a way to bless her own — 

To free the soul that loves her cause. 



22 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE AIIDNIGHT HOUR. 



O, the strangeness of a midnight hour! 

So silent, 3^et with life so filled; 
When to the spirit there comes a power 

Which inner mysteries can reveal. 
Sometimes it seems we have crossed the line 

Which lies 'twixt this and that beauteous land. 
Where eyes we have known upon us shine 

And palms so familiar touch our own. 

The midnight hour! Tender thoughts expressed 

Though no lip move, and no tongue is stirred; 
Then the saddest hour is richh^ blest, 

There comes a joy in each spoken word — 
Words such as never a mortal ear 

Can understand, or in listening reach. 
For language born in the spirit sphere 

Can never be framed into mortal speech. 

The midnight hour! The external world 
The subtle presence can never know 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 23 

Of the loved, who cause our hearts to thrill 
With memories sweet of long ago. 

The hour when passion and strife can rest 
The soul can revel 'mid better things; 

And O, how often the dreamer's breast 
Is touched with peace that some angel brings. 

Thrice blessed the one who knows at morn 

The visions that came in dreams of night; 
When the veil of heaven was withdrawn 

And the dreamer saw with clearer sight. 
The world is not alwa3^s dark and cold 

If in our dreams we can sometimes reach 
The other world and are given to hold 

The key that interprets spirit speech. 



24 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



TO THE ABSENT. 



Written to my companion while he was on his first visit 
to California. 



So far and A^et so near; 
My spirit goes and touches thee m^^ love 
This midnight hour, with sweet and tender 

thought. 
Not only would I give thee dreams of home, 
But I w^ould make thee feel the soulful praj^er 
That goeth forth each morn and night for thee. 
Thy feet press daily, pleasant, flowery paths; 
Bright skies bend o'er thee; canst thou not for- 
get 
E'en for a time, this world has ever been 
So cruel, harsh and cold? 

Thy life must take an added glory on; 
Where nature lavishes so much of wealth 
On earth, in air and sun. 
I reach, through silent forces of the soul 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 25 

The things thou lovest well in that strange land; 
I seem to know the flowers that welcome thee 
Upon the roadside in thy daily walk; 
I whisper in the morning's gentle wind 
And blend my songs with murmurings of the sea; 
When wearied with the burdens of the day, 
I strive to medicine thy o'er-taxed soul, 
And as of erst, to press thj^ eyelids down 
With gentle touch; then with a dear old song 
To lull thj^ spirit to the land of dreams. 

I cannot tell how long and strange the days 
That silently have woven into months; 
Nor, dear, how close the shadows sometimes fall 
While I am striving up the heights to climb. 
But never are the clouds so dark and grim 
That all the light is hidden from my view. 
Hope's bright-hued rainbow spans the clouded 

sky, 
And sometimes gilded are the mountain-tops 
That rise before me. 
So I still struggle to ascend the steeps. 
And courage take from ever3^ gleam of light, 
And follow Dutj^'s way. 

So far and yet so near; 
Mountains may rise and rivers flow between, 
Spirit defies them all and seeks its own. 



26 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

Thus will it be, when the Pale Messenger 
Shall part the stream — bear one of us away; 
But Love, as deathless as its giver — God, 
Shall rise triumphantly above the grave — 
Pierce the thin veil that hangs between the worlds, 
And know and claim its own. 



^^^ f^^ t^^ 

There are more pilgrims ascending the Spirit- 
ual Highlands than we can have any possible 
way of knowing. How frequently we hear some 
one say, "I have had," or *'I am having, ex- 
periences that prove beyond a doubt, a contin- 
uous life after the change called death, and the 
realities of spirit communion, but I am not a 
Spiritualist." Many of this class are in the or- 
thodox churches and believe in some unexplained 
way, that they are blessed as many are not, by 
'^special Providence," or* 'heavenly interventions." 
Sooner or later, the scales will fall from the 
eyes of these would-be Christians; the angel will 
appear to them with her true name — Spiritual- 
ism—and she will give unquestionable evidence 
that she is the "Way and the Light." 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 27 



I CANNOT TELL. 



I cannot tell how in the voiceless silence 

My songs are born; 
I only know they fall in sweetest cadence 

And cheer me on. 

I may not see the forms of my dear teachers 

Who often guide; 
I reach my hand out in the darkened silence- 

They're by my side. 

I cannot tell while waiting in the silence 

How two souls meet; 
I only feel life's strange and mystic circle 

Is more complete. 



28 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



'TRAYER IS THE SOUL'S SINCERE DESIRE, 
UTTERED OR UNEXPRESSED." 

(Impromptu.) 



I wish I might breathe a praj^er to-night 
That would stir the deeps in some lonely soul, 

Till it bursts the shadows and found the light 
That falls from the realm, All Beautiful. 

A pra\'er that might fall in rythm sweet 
Upon the heart, till each quivering string 

Would vibrate gently at love's soft beat 
And know heaven sent an answering. 

I wish, if angels have harps of gold, 
I might touch one with magic hand; 

And waft such music throughout the world 
As sorrowing ones could understand. 

But the angels' harps are hung so high 
My poor weak hands can never reach; 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 29 

And the words of their rare minstrelsy 
I can not frame in mortal speech. 

I can only echo the spirit's song 
In simple lays that may heal and bind 

The hearts that are hurt, as I pass along, 
And teach my own to be true and kind. 

«.?• «.?• «^ 

The real musician does not derive his happiness 
from the plaudits rendered him b^^ the lovers of 
his composition or song. His happiness is born 
of the soul and he revels in the melodies of his 
soul-world. The real poet does not write to 
please others; he writes for the same reason that 
the rills flow and the birds sing; he cannot help 
it. The world may lay laurels at his feet and 
crown him with worldly honors; all these are 
nothing to him in comparison to the beautiful 
imageries that people his brain and soul. 



30 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



ONLY A WOMAN. 



The followng was written in response to a remark that 
woman should not, in any public manner, take part in re- 
form. "Her sphere is the home; in that she has been or- 
dained Queen." 



Yes, only a woman! and it may seem to you 
With the problems of Hfe she has nothing to do — 

That all should be left to her brother; 
But her soul has been stirred by her sister's sad 

prayer, 
Her heart has been wrung b^^ her cries of des- 
pair, 
She has asked for relief, yet it cometh not near, 
Though we're told to help one another. 

Yes, only a woman! Yet the mother of man, 
And how great is her work in Nature's domain — 

In the wonderful realms of creation! 
Has she nothing to do? Has she nothing at 

stake? 
For the work of reform on man must she wait, 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 31 

Woman — the mother of all who are great 
And have crowned with glor^^ the Nation? 

Please tell me, my friend, who mapped out 

"Woman's sphere," 
Whose voice first commanded her hither, or there? 

And when was the mandate thus given? 
Know you not woman's love is as deep as the 

sea — 
That it striveth for good where'er evil may be? 
That it seeketh to bless, and to cleanse from sin 

free 
And to transform earth-hells into heaven? 

Yes, only a woman! Yet beholding the wrong 
That sits in high places of state, jeweled-cr owned, 

With injustice all law defying; 
Well she knows that the hand of the tyrant is 

raised, 
Over hundreds now toiling as serfs and as slaves 
While the ensign of liberty over us waves, 

And for freedom each day they are crying. 

Yes, only a woman! But she sees the strong hand 
Reach forth the red wine-cup with hell's fiery 
brand, 
And she knows that love and devotion 
Have labored and struggled, and pleaded in vain, 



32 SPIRIT ECHOES, 

While closer and closer the strongest of chains 
Is fettering, body, spirit and brain, 
All hastening to infamy's ocean. 

Yes, only a woman! Yet with voice and with pen 
She can labor for woman, the mother of men, 

And teach her the law of soul being; 
Till, perchance in the distance the day-dawn may 

come 
When the higher inheritance falls to the son. 
And through reason and nature, the battle be 
won. 
And souls go forth clearer seeing. 

Yes, only a woman! With two hands and a 

brain. 
Just the same as her brother on this earthl3^ 

plane. 
To work that this world may be righted. 
To make sweet the home, keep it sacred and 

clean 
That man ma3^ be King where woman is Queen, 
To help make an Eden for incoming man 
And to see that dark places are lighted. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 33 



CORONADO. 



The Island of Coronado, off from San Diego, Cal., is per- 
haps one of the most beautiful places on earth. Hotel Cor- 
onado was at that time the finest and largest resort hotel 
in the \Yorld. The climate of Coronado cannot be excelled, 
the mercury in winter only falling eight degrees below its 
summer position. Art and Nature have combined to make 
this spot a Paradise. The writer spent one day in the 
court of the hotel, and on the beautiful walks of the Island 
and in the Museum. On the evening of the same daj' the 



I wandered among the rose and palm, 

'Neath the feathery shade of the pepper tree; 
Where the marguerites and lillies smiled 

And the blue-e3^ed violets talked to me. 
It seemed I sensed an air from the north 

As I stood by a Yankee hardy pine; 
But its neighbor whispered: "I'm from the south, 

I was born in the sands of the tropic clime." 

One little flower beside the walk 

Brought me a dream of New England hills; 
By its side the proud Ponzetta talked 

And said, "I have come from afar Brazil." 



34 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

Lemon and camphor tree, side by side, 
While their odors unto the winds were given. 

And a lowly shrub said modestly: 
■''They have christened me a 'Breath from 
Heaven.' " 

Lattice and arbor, and mound and wall 
Were freighted with beauty and perfume rare, 

Until it seemed that at Nature's call 
The whole world had sent their offerings there. 

On from the gardens past lovely homes 

Where fair maidens sang and children played, 
Till I reached the spot where the serf and foam 

In snowy billows on w^hite sands were laid. 
Like one enchanted on the white-washed shore 

I stood, as old ocean's waves were tossed; 
Her silvery spray encircled me o'er 

Then scattered like jewels along the coast. 

I thought, O, wonderful waves that rise! 

Till your waters are tossed near mountain high; 
While in the distance your old face smiles 

In calmness, while kissed by the bending sky, 
How much like man's life do your currents flow 

Tossing and striving high points to reach. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 35 

While beyond this tumult, the waters blue 
Roll on in billows that break on the beach. 

I lingered till hours of the day were told 

And Sol in his parting had kissed the tide; 
And left in his train a bridge of gold 

That reached from the shore to the other side. 
Till the moon caressed the trembling flowers, 

And the chorus of night-birds came to sing; 
And wonderful silence touched the bowers. 

As though they were brooded by sheltering 
wings. 

O, precious day! For my restless soul 

Had communed in truth, with the great Heart- 
God; 
Through language of flowers and ocean's roll 

I had faced the soul of Eternal Good. 
The seasons will come and pass awsLj, 

Shaded and sunned bj^ life's tear-drops and 
smiles, 
It ever will seem I walked one day 

With the Angels of God on Enchanted Isle. 



36 SPIRIT ECHOES, 



THE CONQUERED. 



Poet and bard have done homage to these among us, who> 
have succeeded in winning the plaudits of the world, when 
they have passed out of this world, the graves of the illus- 
trious so-called dead have been covered with flowers — ten- 
der hands have garlanded their monuments with laurel 
wreaths, but how few among the gifted have been inspired 
to sing a song for the Conquered, or to place a bit of ever- 
green upon the mound covering the!* dust of the one who 
was unsuccessful and went down in the struggle. But: 



I would sing a song for the conquered, 

Who struggled, and struggled again; 
Till the soul burst out of its bondage. 

And left its spirit of pain. 
For those who are left in the valleys 

To bear their burdens along; 
Who know not their angels 'mid darkness 

Keep watch, and care for their own. 

I would sing a song for the conquered 
They failed — each failure may prove 

A prophecy full of good promise 
To be met in the world above. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 37 

The one who succeeds in the conflict 

Aided by armies, may be 
Less strong than the one who strives singly 
And falls alone, in the fray. 

Then a garland and song for the conquered 

Who have fallen to rise again; 
Every tear shall turn to a jewel 

That has fallen from eyes of pain. 
And the spirit that struggles forward 

Though slow its advance ma3' be, 
Shall behold from some gilded summit 

The star of its destiny. 



38 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



A healthy, physical bod}^ with a well bal- 
anced mentalitj^ and a harmonious spiritual ad- 
justment, afford the best conditions for any and 
every phase of Spiritualistic mediumship. No 
matter how beautiful a watch may be mounted, 
if its delicate machinery is out of order — if there 
is not perfect adjustment of the most delicate 
wheels, it is impossible to mark the correct time 
through its hands on the dial. A musical in- 
strument may be incased in the costliest ma- 
terial, magnificently carved, if one string is 
broken, or one reed is crippled, the skillful per- 
former would consider the instrument unfit for 
use and cause it to be laid by for repairs. We 
are spirits here and now, using these bodies. 
If eye, ear or limb is defective, we cannot use 
to good advantage our own bodies in which we 
have lived all these years; what reason have we 
to suppose some other spirit may operate upon 
them with good results? All inspiration par- 
takes of the characteristics of the organism 
through which it flows. If we strive to make 
the most of ourselves in every department of our 
being, we shall find the manifestations of the 
spirit are correspondingly improved. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 39 



THOMAS PAINE. 



Poets have written and bards have sung 
Of illustrious men whom the world calls dead; 

Granite and marble their columns rear 
Over their ashes, flowers strew their bed; 

With reverent lips the world speaks the name 
Of those who were known to this w^orld's fame. 

Prophet and priest, and sage and seer 
Have w^orn the laurels earth has given; 

Homage and love have strewn their bier 
With flowers as sweet as the breath of heaven. 

But how few have e'er sung in grateful strain 
Of the heroic deeds of Thomas Paine. 

O, Thomas Paine! When the black smoke of war 
Was rising in clouds over battles grim, 

When striking for justice, our fathers saw 
No light in the future so gre\^ and grim; 

Thy genius rose like a star in the night. 

And guided them onward to freedom's light. 



40 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

Thy words lit by magic the patriot fires, 
Put strength in the soul where hope had grown 
dim, 

Inspired with thy prophecies, loyal sires 
Had faith when they sang their battle hymn. 

Thy pen did more for our nation's crown 
Than the glittering sword of a Washington. 

Wherever the chains of slavery held 
A people cursed by a priest or a throne, 

There, and there only, his chosen field, 
There was his country and there was his home. 

Denounced by the priests he firmly stood. 
His only religion was to do good. 

The ''Age of Reason" has reached us at last, 
And man maj^ think as it seemeth good; 

He lives by the teachings of ''Common Sense," 
When "The Rights of Man" are understood. 

"The Crisis" is coming, its signs are here. 
The cowards are quaking with doubt and fear. 

How many demons of the past 
Are the saints today that we adore; 

Scorned and maligned unto the last. 
The world now repeats their praises o'er, 

And among the honored we praise the name 
Of the Author-Hero, Thomas Paine. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 41 



MAY. 



"Of all the months that brings its wealth to earth, 
There's none like May, sweet May." 

0, lovely May! Thy magic fingers touch 
The skies with wondrous beauty, and thy breath 
Nestles like lover's kisses 'mid the flow^ers; 
A sweetness lingers on the passing air; 
How diligentlj^ thy fairies are at work 
With noiseless loom, weaving the fabrics rare, 
Whereby the trees, and shrubs, and dear old earth. 
May each be clothed in fitting garments bright 
To give a royal welcome to their Queen, 
June, beauteous June. 

How noiselessly the marvelous work goes on, 
No jealoush^ or env3^ anywhere 
In thy vast realm; no strife and no complaint 
Where thy command has gone. The sturdy oak 
Throws out its long, majestic sheltering arm; 
The tinj vine that has not strength to stand 
And face the wind, clings closer day b\^ day. 



42 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

The softly tinted flowers in garden-beds, 
Nod in the sunbeams, while the violet sweet 
Half hidden in the grass in some by-place, 
Droops low its head and says: "I am content." 
The dandelions— yellow jewels shine 
From the soft covering Mother Nature folds 
About her breast more closely every day. 
And glorious May! While all this work goes on, 
Thy orchestra sends forth its soulful strains 
And fills all places with harmonious sounds. 
No discords, rivalry, or critic's tongue, 
Jars the full harmony in this great realm. 
For all are happy in the work and place. 
Nature has them assigned. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 43 



THE SOUL'S SCULPTOR. 



Be still O, Soul, beneath the artist's hand; 

You "do not know as 3-et, his full design, 
You do not see for what the sculptor planned, 

The faithful workman chisels to the line. 
Be patient, Soul. 

Wait, wait O, Soul; the artist cannot haste; 

The pattern by some Master may be given; 
And in the work allow no cruel waste 

While burnishing to make the surface even; 
Be patient. Soul. 

Do not complain, though blow on blow must fall 
From hammer that now seems so hard to bear; 
Each time it strikes, some coarse rough line is 
gone; 
The symmetry comes distinct and clear. 
Endure, O, Soul. 

Be brave, O, Soul; what though some tear-drops 
start? 



44 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

The sculptor watches, and he counts each one; 
You do not know the strange, mysterious art 
By which he makes them brighten as the sun 
And crowns 3-ou Soul. 

e,^*' e.5^ t^^ 

The more we learn, the more we find there is 
that we do not know. In art, science, and spirt- 
ual unfoldment there seems to be no limit. To- 
day we may think we carve our grandest ideal, 
or express our loftiest sentiment; to-morrow we 
may be able to transcend all we have done to- 
day. We ma\^ think we spanned a large circle 
in the thought- world in our last effort, but if 
we will it so, it will widen as the days go b3^ 
Spiritualism teaches that we cannot aspire be- 
yond our possible attainments; if this is so, we 
ought never to become discouraged in our efforts. 
Our continuous longing to do more, and to be 
more, should of themselves be incentives for 
higher resolve and earnest endeavor. If our 
ideal seems always beyond us, we may with 
constant striving, be enabled to reach to-morrow, 
the ideal of to-day. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 45 



MY INNER ROOM. 



Unto myself I turn and find 

An inner room; 'tis peopled there 
With forms that never can take shape 

Or dwell within the outer air. 
They meet my sotil as face to face, 

And read my every thought of wrong; 
They sense my bitterness and hate 

And chide me e'er with silent tongue. 

Like faithful sentinels they stand, 

To bar out each unholy guest; 
They fail sometimes for ugly arms 

Through the half-open door are loressed. 
And when I turn to meet the eyes 

Of those untouched by mortal dust 
They speak rebukes; I love them still 

For well I know their chidings just. 

My inner room! Upon its walls, 
Are hung the purest, softest folds 



46 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

With colorings that must come down 
From heaven's skies when touched with gold. 

But there are times when I am blind 
And naught but discontent I see; 

Then the pure beings are w^ithdrawn — 
A veil falls down 'twixt them and me. 

My Inner RoomI Its door is swung 

To none but me, I enter there; 
I leave my offerings alone, 

My tears, resolves, my secret pra3'er. 
I do not see the Angel Guest 

Or beauties that are kept therein 
Save when I strive to do my best 

And rise triumphant over sin. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 47 



THINGS BEYOND OUR SENSES. 



Prof. Tyndall has said: ''Two-thirds of the rays 
emitted b^^ the sun, fail to arouse the sense of 
vision." Huxle\^ tells us that: "The wonderful 
noon-day silence of a tropical forest is, after all, 
due only to the dullness of our hearing." If this 
is true, is it unreasonable to suppose that there 
are spiritual sights and sounds of which we take 
no cognizance, in consequence of the dullness of 
our spiritual faculties? 

We have been let into an infinitesmal world 
of marvelous beauty through a little piece of 
dead glass. We have been permitted to enter a 
world of which we knew nothing, until Edison's 
microphone came to our aid. So in these days, 
some have been able through an agency, known 
only to spirit, to look upon scenes, and listen 
to sounds, that lie beyond the ken of lenses and 
wires. Manj^ scholars are, at this time, looking 
timidly forw^ard under the light that has come 
in these later days, fearful lest the ''new science" 



48 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

may launch them in waters too deep for anything 
known in their present philosophy. It is only a 
question of time, w4ien science wnll deal with 
the unseen in a manner that the world will 
become enlightened respecting our interior facul- 
ties and subtle relationships. Then will the 
following sentiment present more truth than 
poetry: 
"There are more things in heaven and earth, 

Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." 



^ ,5^ j»^ 

Physical Culture is doing much to beautify the 
''human form divine." Let us remember that man 
is not mereh'- a physical being; there are other 
distortions and deformities than those that 
attach to the body; while it is well to do all in 
our power to relieve the physical of all stiffness 
and avjkwardness, we should likewise make an 
effort to free the mental and the spiritual sides 
of our being; then there will be more perfect 
harmony with all law, at the same time more 
soul illumination. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 49 



THE CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 



The following was given inspirationally at the conclusion 
of a lecture during one of the author's engagements in 
Chicago, 111. The subject was presented by a lady in the 
audience who said atterwards, the entire poem w^as a test to 
her. She stated that her youngest daughter passed to the 
spirit world a few years previous, on Christmas. The 
mother was not a Spiritualist at the time, she clad lierselt 
in mourning and felt as though she would drape everything 
in black about the home. She tried to investigate Spirit- 
ualism in a quiet way, but received no satisfaction that her 
child lived and under proper conditions could return. Tw» 
years from the time the daughter left the home, the family 
held a reunion on Christmas; the mother was sad and in 
tears in the midst of mirth and song. While sitting by a 
chair she had requested to be kept vacant in memory of her 
daughter, she saw the loved one, she heard her speak, she 
was made to know that Spiritualism was a fact. When the 
lady related this to the w^riter, she concluded her remarks 
with these words: "The Christmas-Tide that brought my 
Angel child to me, was the most glorious Christmas of my 
whole life. I was then and there made a Spiritualist." 



They hung the holly in windows bright, 
They made the rooms most fair and light; 
Sweet song and laughter filled the air, 
The young and gay had gathered there. 
A mother sat from all apart 
With tearful eyes and aching heart; 



50 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

Her soul sobbed out a silent prayer, 
As she caressed a vacant chair; 
The youngest one, a mother's pride 
Drifted awa^^ one Christmas-Tide. 

She heard the song,' it gave no cheer, 

Her cheeks were wet; tear after tear 

Fell freely from the mother's ej^es. 

Her bosom heaved with smothered sighs; 

When all at once above her head 

A beautiful soft cloud was spread; 

She saw above, a youthful face 

That looked toward hers with quiet grace; 

The mother cried: ''M^- child once more 

Has come to me; the silent shore 

No longer holds the one that died 

She comes to me this Christmas-Tide!" 

Close by the mother a white form 

With arms outstretched was kneeling down; 

She sweetly smiled — the dear old way — 

The lips that moved seemed not of clay; 

The mother for joy could not speak, 

A halo shone o'er brow and cheek. 

She clasped the Angel at her side 

Who had blessed her thus that Christmas-Tide. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 51 

^'0, mother dear," was sweetly said; 
She placed her hands on the dear head; 
^*I tried to come for man3^ a day, 
The door was shut, I went aw^ay; 
I felt your longing here to-night, 
I heard the music, all was bright, 
I heard the call of 3^our dear heart; 
I pushed the flimsy veil apart, 
I come! I nestle by 3^our side 
To give you joy this Christmas-Tide. 

*'I see the holly berries bright, 

The dear old rooms with Christmas light; 

I heard the strains of olden song, 

I saw you sitting in the throng — 

Sitting apart with tear- wet eyes; 

I longed to give 3^ou this surprise; 

Dear hands have filled the Christmas tree 

With no remembrance there for me. 

O, mother, never call me dead; 
Close b}' 3'our side 1 oft will tread; 
I heed the days that come and go. 
The svmimer's sun and winter's snow, 
When comes again the Christmas-Tide 
You will not weep for one who died; 
And when you fill the Christmas tree, 
May one gift hang thereon for me." 



52 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE WONDERFUL SILENCE, 



Oft I wait in the wonderful silence; 

I listen to beautiful words 
That have never on mortal lip trembled 

Till the depth of my being is stirred. 
And pure faces look in the silence 

That came for long years but in dreams; 
With forms like the twilight's soft shadows 

That bend over shimmering streams. 

I have a heart-shrine in the silence, 

I leave there my hopes and m3^ fears; 
They are guarded by beautiful angels 

Who turn into smiles all my tears. 
There are hoh^, uplifting responses 

That come to this spirit of mine 
From the angels I meet in the silence, 

When I turn to my altar-shrine. 

There are times when it seems dark curtains 
Are screening the beautiful light; 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 53 

And star-beams are ever so distant 
When I look for their glimmer at night. 

Then I turn to my shrine in the silence, 
And leave on its altar, a prayer 

And I find in that trysting place ever 
My God and my Angels are near. 

t^ t^ t^ 

The most irrational idea that a Spiritualist 

ever pictured of the Spirit World does not come 

half way down in absurdity, to the idea that 

some of our orthodox friends entertain of 

Heaven. Eternal Psalm singing to a person 

who cannot sing, and has no ear for the song 

of others, would not only be a disagreeable 

monotony, but rasping in the extreme. A 

state of inactivity i. e. of ''perfect rest," 

would be the greatest kind of a hell to the 

active, labor-loving spiritual man. The idea 

that angels are simply "winged beings," floating 

on ''nothingness," without form, or any of the 

atributes that belong to the genus homo, is the 

most senseless idea one can entertain of those 

w^ho inhabit the other world. AnnihiUation 

w-ould be preferable to any of these conditions. 



54 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE TWO SINGERS. 



A singer sang in a stately hall, 

His voice was sad, his face, a pall; 

He sang of trouble and discontent, 

And begged in his song that man repent,. 

And yield life's pleasures before too late. 

And at last be saved at heaven's gate. 

He sang: "The whole world is growing worse; 

'Tis a sad, sad world and all sin-cursed;" 

And Avhen he closed, not a word was said. 

His tones fell on the heart like lead. 

Another sang, in the market place; 

A song for the People, with joyous face; 

His voice itself was harmony, 

As he sang of ''The Good Time j^et to be;" 

The busy traveler on the street 

Lingered to hear the singer sweet; 

The children paused in their romp and play 

To hear the song in the market-way; 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 55 

When the singer had ceased in his jo3^ous strain, 
He was pressed by the crowd to sing again; 
Cheer followed cheer, the prolonged applause, 
Proved he was one with the Peoples' Cause. 

e^* t^^ t2^ 

To the one who believes in endless progress, 
there are limitless possibilities in all his dreams. 
To him, the most marvelous songs of this world, 
are simply snatches of melodies — fragments of 
broken chords that some sensitive ear may have 
caught, as the diapasons swept from octave to 
octave in the realms beyond, on instruments 
finer than those ever touched by mortal hand. 
If it is true that no ph^'-sical range of vision can 
rise higher, or sink lower than certain points 
denominated by scientists, then may we not 
reasonably believe that our finest works of Art 
as presented from the canvas, may be very 
coarse, compared to the Art produced in spirit 
life, where, with finer vision, tints unknown to 
the physical ejQ, nvdy be v/rought out in designs 
as much more beautiful than anything earth pre- 
sents, as we suppose tlie spirit to be more beau- 
tiful than the bod3^? 



56 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



GUIDE ME ARIGHT. 



Guide me aright, sometimes my eyes are blinded, 
I have not strength or courage to go on; 

I do not see the path through thickets winding, 
Where I must wander in the dark alone; 

The skies are black as on a starless night, 
Guide mc aright. 

Guide me aright, to plaiiis where I aspire, 
Where earthly passion shall not master be; 

Where every day I reach a peak still higher, 
Until at last my soul unfettered — free 

May stand alone, exulting in the light. 
Guide me aright. 

Guide me aright amid my earthly pleasures, 

Nor let me grieve if loss instead of gain 
Shall be my portion; this earth's fleeting treas- 
ures, 
May seem as vict'ries; oft they give but pain. 
1 would be taught to see with clearer sight, 
Guide me aright. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 57 

Guide me aright that in my outward journey 
When heart-throbs cease and conflicts here are 
o'er 
My soul may rise untrammeled from the mortal 

And find its home upon the other shore; 
Be as a star — a faithful Beacon Light, 
Guide me ari^^ht. 



t^ tS^ ^y* 

We never make a greater mistake than when 
we manifest our unwillingness to learn from 
others the lessons that would be of great value 
to ourselves. Nothing hinders advancement more 
than vain conceit that resents advice or counsel. 



As the richest soil when uncultivated, yields 
the rankest, and often the most loathsome w^eeds, 
so the uncultivated mind of a person who pos- 
sesses a genius, often corrupts society and be- 
comes a more baneful element than would even 
a worse man with a weaker brain. 



68 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



JUST YOU AND I. 



Do you remember dear, that golden day 

When we together watched the summer sky, 
Amid the shadows of the grand old wood, 
Wrapt in the bliss of nature's solitude 
Just you and I ? 

Have you forgotten how the distant past 

Repainted pictures on our mental sky, 
Until it seemed that we stood face to face 
As two souls meeting in some holy place. 
Just you and I? 

How strange the tide, that after many years 
Drifted our barques together on life's brine! 
We floated out, and did not know the way 
Our boats had anchored on that summer day; 
Just yours and mine. 

Perhaps my dear, somewhere when we have 
crossed 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 59 

The border line, beneath as fair a sky, 
Our hands may clasp, and soul may talk to soul, 
As in the shadows of that woodland old, 
Just you and I. 

4^* e^'' ^^ 

No legislative body can, by enactment, ever 
make a thing true or false. Principles are never 
changed by vote. The courts should have no 
more to do in deciding matters relative to 
spiritual manifestations than in attempting to 
prove or disprove the doctrine of the Trinity or 
the Immaculate Conception. They could decide 
one as well as the other. 

^* f2^ t^^ 

There is no way by which truth can be so 
effectually presented, as when incorporated into 
our lives. Words amount to little with soul 
expression. A parrot may be taught to articulate 
fine sentences, but her words never inspire a 
listener with better thoughts or to more noble 
deeds. 



60 SPIRIT ECHOES, 



GREAT SPIRIT OF ETERNAL TRUTH. 



Great Spirit of Eternal Truth, 

Shine Thou upon our darkened way, 
Until our souls reflect the light 
That falleth from Thy mountain's height, 
And Error's thoughts are put to flight 
By Thy great Majesty. 

Great Spirit of Enlightened Truth; 

The past holds man^^ a fettering chain; 
Our lives to empty forms are bound, 
False pride and custom hedge us 'round, 
Mankind is groveling in the ground 
Mere v\^orldty wealth to gain. 

Great Spirit of Immortal Truth, 

Pave for each soul a glowing way 
Upon us now; Thy influence shower 
That we may rise as one grand power, 
To consecrate this living hour. 
And glorif)^ this day. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 61 



I CANNOT TELL. 



I cannot tell how in the voiceless silence, 

My songs are born; 
I only know they fall in sweetest cadence 

And cheer me on. 

I may not see the forms of the dear teachers 

Who often guide; 
I reach my hand amid the darkened shadows, 

They're b3' my side. 

I cannot tell while in the silence waiting 

How two souls meet; 
I only feel life's strange and m3^stic circle 

Is more complete. 



62 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



A REVERIE. 



The blue sky bends in beauty 

Over the waking earth; 
The air is sweet with blossoms, 

The leaflets are hastening forth; 
The birds from the soft green branches 

Their songs of morning sing, 
And tender memories waken 

This rare, sweet day of spring. 

I hear a voice from the North-land 

In the breeze that passes by; 
I wonder if dear home spirits 

Can gather my repl3^ 
I would span the vale and mountain 

With thoughts most true and dear, 
For I know our silent 3-earnings 

Oft bring our loved ones near. 

Sometimes a calm, sweet influence 
Touches these lives of ours 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 63 

When the deep unuttered longing 
Of our soul-life outward pours; 

When every shimmering sunbeam 
And wave, with jeweled crest, 

Reflect the cherished faces 
Of those we love the best. 

t^ «^^ «3^ 

The under current of thought cannot be con- 
trolled. Everj^ human consideration will fall 
before the larger life that bears us on. Growth 
and outgrowth is an eternal law. Everv strug- 
gle for justice, every battle for freedom, as well 
as every bereavement that bows us low, are the 
throes through which better conditions are born. 
Through them we are led to better things and 
the experiences themselves 3'ield us fresh springs 
of inspiration. 



64 SPIRIT ECHOES, 



AN IMPROMPTU, 
ON THE RECEPTION OF A BOUOUET. 



Precious this gift from her, my cherished friend; 

Dear pinks and roses, O, how sweet 3'e arel 
Your fragrance like a breath of heaven seems. 

Your beauty changes earth's coarse atmos- 
phere. 

How strange the hfc your charming petals 
hold- 
Some poor, bruised petals, sweeter than the 
rest; 
A useful lesson to my thoughts unfold — 
A priceless sermon in your leaves expressed. 

Was it a careless hand or frost3' breath 
That marred 3^our beauty, rose of daintiest 
hue? 

It matters not, for in your cruel death 
A richer fragrance has been given you. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 65 

Some natures, like these flowers I hold to-night, 
Many a hurt and cruel touch have borne, 

And 'neath their bruises, hid from mortal sight, 
They bear a sweetness this world ne'er has 
known. 

tt^^ t^^ <<7^ 

We pity the poor hunch-back, and sympathise 
with the one who is crippled in limb. Do not 
the mental and moral cripples need our sympa- 
thy as much as those who are deformed physic- 
ally? Ought they not to be treated as tenderh" 
and with as much consideration as the one who 
is crippled in body? 

aJ* t^ t^ 

All must learn, sooner or later, that recipro- 
city is a law of nature. We cannot continuously 
take and never give. We must earn our happiness 
if we would have and keep it. If we live for a 
purpose, to make the world better, and to make 
the most of ourselves, w^e receive growth in the 
doing, and happiness will be the legitimate 
result. 



66 SPIRIT ECHOES, 



WHAT OF THE NIGHT? 



The above subject was presented from the audience at the 
conclusion of a lecture delivered many years since, in Boston, 
Mass. At the time it was given, our country was passing 
through a financial struggle and what was known as the 
Comstock Law, was in full force in Massachusetts; every Free 
Thought and Spiritualist paper in the country was threat- 
ened, and honest men and women were being sent to prison 
under the Comstock reign. 



O, ye ascended ones, what of the night? 
Are ye upon the watch-towers over there 
Keeping guard, heaven appointed sentinels? 
Do ye now feel the great world's throbbing pulse, 
And sense the quaking of earth's strongest hearts 
While feebler ones are nearly dumb with fear? 

The hands upon the dial-plate of time 

Have turned an hundred times and many more. 

Since Freedom's bell sent out its ringing tones 

upon the air, 
Proclaiming we are free! But are we free? 
What means the threatenings of Church and 

State? 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 67 

The piotis Church, with consecrated saints, 
Who for the "Glory of their God" would spoil 
His handiwork — an honest man. 

Alas! The State; so full of guilt and crime; 
Puts forth its long, strong arm and writes the 

law 
That must become the living soul's decree. 
What though a God hath writ with pen of fire 
A truth divine within the human brain? 
That brain may burn and throb with heaven's 

thought. 
It cannot flash it to the waiting world, 
W^ithout inuring pain, contempt and scorn. 

Who are the free? Are there not galling chains 
Upon the lower millions? Hear their cry — 
Their piteous cry, for their daily bread. 
What wealth is hoarded in this boasted land! 
Yet men walk foodless in the streets tonight. 
While just across the way, the ample shelves 
Are piled with bread; tomorrow they'll be thrown 
With moulding refuse in the offal cart, 
And still the cry goes out, "Oh, give me bread." 

O, if a Christ might come and teach us love; 
A love that binds mankind in brotherhood; 



68 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

A love that puts elixir into life; 

A love that medicines our weariness; 

A love that would light fires on this cold earth 

And make it warm, and hght, and beautiful. 

O, ye ascended ones, what of the night? 
Do your far-seeing souls see morning gleams? 
What answer do you bring earth's praying ones, 
Who bring their anxious, aching hearts to you? 
Ye w^ho have fought the battles of the past 
And steered the Ship of State 'mid storm and 

flood; 
Ye who have suffered for the Truth's dear sake, 
And labored long to forward Justice's cause; 
What of the future? What do signs portend? 
Heaven, earth and hell now stir; the tocsin sounds 
The cry of war is echoed on the air; 
Will creed, and sect, and party alwaj^s stand. 
Or, as the day of Retribution comes, 
Will popes and robber-rulers cease their swa\^? 
And all be ground between the flinty stones 
Of Justice, Equity and human Rights? 

Ye Sentinels, I pause. On yonder heights, 
Your words in thunder-tones respond to me; 
*'The Old is dying, let the New come in;" 
Listen: "The Peoples' Advent" truly comes; 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 69 

Do you not hear this strong, majestic tread 
Of the World's savior, up ''the steeps of time?" 
'Tis he who shakes the world to centre now; 
He sets the scales of Justice; they are true; 
The balance will be felt by loyal souls; 
Manhood will rise against ignoble laws, 
And gods will write upon the hearts of men: 
"Humanit^^ is better than a Church." 

^ ^ ^^ 

A morbid desire may be cultivated in any 
direction, and not unfrequently do we meet well 
meaning people who seek nothing more in Spirit- 
ualism than "signs," and who continuously be- 
siege the mediums to give them "positive proofs 
of spirit identity." If such would occasionally 
make an effort to find a test of their own spirit 
identity-, they would put themselves in a con- 
dition where they would get the "proof" they 
continuouslv demand of others. 



70 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE CHANGE, 



Once on a time, I read a rhyme, 

'Twas set in faulty numbers; 
I truly thought the one who wrote, 

Had made the worst of blunders. 

His queer rhymes proved he was in love; 

And tried to tell his passion; 
O pshaw! I said, the silly head! 

Who cares for his soft gushing? 

Many a da^^ had passed away; 

I read the same lines over; 
He was no dunce, I found at once, 

But a true-hearted lover. 

And now the style that made me smile 
When first I gave the reading, 

Though not of art, spoke from the heart 
And woke responsive feeling. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 71 

And I would say, in some strange way 
The rhymes stirred my emotion; 

Unknown to fame or rustic pen, 
Portrayed the soul's devotion. 

t^^ ^^^ ft^^ 

One of the greatest hindrances in the way of 
intellectual attainment or spiritual growth, is 
the thought that we have certain limitations, 
and we set our bounds accordingly. Not only 
do we hinder our own advancement, but we 
attempt to limit others by the bonds w^e have 
put around ourselves. 

^5*^ ^r^ t,^^ 

The religion of Spirituahsm— I do not know 
how else to name it, must explore the seeming 
mysteries of life, solve its problems, and set 
every fact ablaze with a living inspiration. 
Faithful sentinels keep watch and hold guard, 
read3% as soon as their instruments in this 
world can co-operate, to push forward for great- 
er mental freedom and a higher education. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE PRICE OF VIRTUE. 






The man who loves and practices the good, 
May not have been, m the first stage of Ufe, 
Entirely free from elements of strife, 

And craft, and cunning; possibly he stood 

Upon the borders of the threatening flood 
Where passion raged upon its maddening crest, 
And swallowed thousands at Red Sin's behest. 

We may not know the battle one has fought. 
Nor how the forces of his being stirred 
When he resolved his very soul to gird 

With Virtue's armor; nor the pain inwrought 
Into his very vitals, on that day 
When he determined Sin or Self to slay. 

Nor that the strength he used, that sin to quell 

Might have thrust him to the deepest hell. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 73 



PARADOXES. 



I live in a world where the skies are clear 

In time of storm^^ weather; 
And in spite of frosts, the flowers appear, 

Whose bud and bloom I gather. 

The beautiful streams by grass banks flow 
And dance, while ice-king's reigning; 

And the air is warm 'mid the winter's snow, 
The birds are ever singing. 

The streets where I live are always fair; 

Castles, wuth minarets shining 
Can be builded up in a single hour. 

Till the}^ touch the clouds' soft lining. 

Amid all the discord of harshest sounds 

The softest airs are plajdng. 
And none are here but delightful friends; 

Some are constanth' sta^nng. 



74 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

I send my message hither and yon 
Without the wire's soft clicking, 

And -when I may seem to the world alone 
The crowds my realm are seeking. 

This beautiful realm, with its glor^^-skies, 

And castles, suns are gilding, 
Is the soul — a realm beyond worldly price, 

Where my best life is building. 



tS^ t^ t5* 



There is no toil however humble or monoton- 
ous, but that becomes an inspiration, and ceases 
to be a task, when accompanied by love-service. 
As soon as we become conscious that our con- 
tribution of labor in the home, and in society, 
is indispensable in the general order of things, 
we rise to a dignity in our labor, that would 
befit a king or queen. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 



What a wonderful thing is the human heart, 
As it keeps up its constant round of beating; 

Now matter how often with dexterous art 

We attempt strange ''make-ups" to act some 
part 
The heart is still keeping 

The self-same life, whether waking or sleeping. 

What a wonderful thing that force must be, 
That causes the da\\y surging and flowing 

Of the boundless waves of life's red sea, 

Rushing and gushing so constanth^; 
Its power never knowing, 

And never through outlet, its rivers going. 

What a sensitive thing is the human heart! 

One thought may set the red spring chilling; 
Or sunder a freezing current apart 
Or cause congealed currents again to start 

With new joy infilling, 
The fountain of life, delightful and thrilHng. 



76 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE ANGELS' MESSAGE. 



The following poem is simph' the tale of a dream. The 
dream was giving to me one night after Mr. Hull and my- 
self had visited several Reform Institutions in the vicinity 
of Boston. We were at that time engaged in the publication 
of a paper and interested in the Prison Reform movement. 
The experiences of the day to which I refer made a deep, 
and sad impression upon me which probablj' gave rise to 
the dream. 

One night I sat in my quiet room, 
The earth, hke m3'self, seemed out of tune; 
The storm-king tapped on the window-pane 
The hoarse wind sobbed a sad refrain; 
The heavens were black, and the foamy sea 
Was as full of discords as waves could be. 



I had walked that day, 'mong the haunts of 

crime; 
I had stood beside earth's meanest kind — 
Met those so buried in wrong and shame 
That the3'- even loathed their woman's name; 
Wives who were worse than widowed, they said, 
With puny babies, no home nor bread. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 

And men I had seen, haggard and worn; 
Like human beasts; some with bloated forms; 
And children cursed from earliest age 
With the blight of wasted parentage; 
Their homes, oh, heavens! What social hells! 
O'er which had tolled love's funeral knells. 

Soul-weary and sick I turned away, 

And thought, in a town where Christians pray • 

Where it is claimed we morally stand 

In advance of the heathen, in this fair land, 

If there are Angels in homes of bliss, 

Oh, heaven! oh, God! what mockery this. 

I pondered thus, alone in my room; 

The storm in my heart eclipsed the gloom 

Of the world outside, till in a dream 

I stood on the banks of a deep, wide stream; 

On its banks were temples and churches fair, 

And congregations in waiting there. 

I w^atched them long with a curious eye, 
Arid heard them talking as they passed by; 
And there w^ere many in that vast throng 
Who claimed they ne'er committed wrong; 
The Christians denounced this world of sin 
But no church-door swung to let them in. 



i i 



78 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

And some talked loudl3' of '^noral law;" 
Other proud saints, there were, whom I saw 
Gather their robes in jeweled hand, 
Then by a temple take their stand. 
Then I heard a voice to the people call: 
"Come hither for Christ's sake, one and all." 

A woman sang from a temple grand; 

She sang a song of "The Hol_v Land;" 

A sin-sick sister hearing the song, 

Took up her bab\' and left the throng; 

She sought the singer— "Bless you," she said, 

"Your song was sweet, and my soul is fed." 

"And who are you, with this tiny life? 

A mother you sa\' and not a wife? 

Have you stooped so low in vice and shame? 

Go, girl! This temple you will defame; 

Go! This is the place where angels meet 

Turn from this place your l^lackened feet." 

Then to the churches 1 looked once more, 
"Mene," was written o'er every door; 
And I saw a hand, so white, out-reach, 
And write on the walls of every church. 
One sentence, but O, it much revealed; 
"Weisfhed in the balance and wanting still." 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 79 

The stream then widened — the swelHng tide 

Pressed higher and higher on either side; 

The churches were swallowed; the temples fair 

Went out of sight, I knew not w^here; 

And the crowd astonished, went away 

To a hillside green to preach and pray. 

No priest w^as there to say a word, 
An Angel appeared, and this I heard: 
''We came, your churches w^ould not receive, 
We plead, your people w^ould not believe; 
Pulpit and rostrum were both denied. 
And the Spirit's Truth w^as crucified. 

*'You sent yon w^oman from 3^our church-door 
Branded a sinner; wrhich sinned the more? 
Who here shall place her in low^ estate? 
Did she fall through love? You fell through hate; 
When Angels your records shall pass in. 
Which one think you \\\\\ the whitest seem?" 

'Mong the eager listeners in the throng 

And those w^hose voices joined the song 

Were the fallen man, and the outcast woman; 

With souls of God and bodies human, 

And their faces w^ore a holy light 

And their garments w^ere of glistening white. 



80 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

When the Angel ceased, a joyous song 
Rose in grand unison from that throng; 
No one couljl tell by the garbs they wore, 
Who had been Saint or Sinner before; 
For Souls had been raised to Truth's domain, 
And the Angel sang sweetly, "Amen, Amen." 

t^ ur* «^ 



It pays in every sense to be honest — yes, hon- 
est with ourselves. We are never more deceived 
than when we undertake to deceive others; 
the greatest fool of all, is the one who fools 
himself. 

^^ t^^ f2^ 



We often hear the statement that "We should 
broaden in our thought." This is well, but let 
us bear in mind that we should desire deep 
thinking as well as broad thinking. The great 
thinker is not necessarilv one who covers a 
great range of subjects, but one who thinks 
deeply, consecutively and analytically. The great 
thinker is always noble and generous in his 
attitude toward other thinkers. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. SI 



SOME THINGS THAT HAVE NO END. 



There comes an ending to all hand-clasps here; 
To every smile, and earthly hope and fear; 
An end to envy and to hatred's spite; 
An end to vict'ries through the power of might; 
But unto Love that binds a friend to friend, 
There is a future — Love can never end. 

There comes an end to passion's burning word; 
That unto fire, man's being oft has stirred; 
The gorgeous shows of earth will pass away; 
The false and flimsy of this world decay; 
But soulful homage, friend bestows on friend, 
Will live forever — it can have no end. 

There comes an end to every mortal voice, 

That thrills the heart and makes the soul rejoice; 

Echoes may die away o'er land and sea. 

Its accents by the world forgotten be; 

The Soul will ever speak unto its friend, 

To Love's sweet w^hispers — there can be no end. 



82 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



FALSE PROPHECIES. 



'Twas given me to love this dear old earth, 
Its bounding waters and its brilHant skies; 

The glorious trees sending their strong arms 
forth, 
The garden blossoms with their varied dies. 

'Twas given me to love the poet's rhyme, 
And singer's voice, melodious, sweet and low; 

And listening to such voice at evening time, 
I dreamed the angels came to earth below. 

'Twas given me to love as woman loves, 
With deep emotion and a passion strong — 

A love that whispered in the leaves and flowers 
And wove its fervor into all my song. 

And it was said to me one childhood's day, 
''The sky will dull as j^ou grow old, my dear; 

The flowers, and skj^, and waters will grow 
tame, 
And lose their charm with every passing year." 



SPIRI7 ECHOES. 83 

And 3^et to-day, the same old glory rests 

Upon the sky, and splashing wavelet's gleam; 
And flower, and star, and white moon's silver 

crest 
Are just as fair as when in childhood seen. 

Another said: "Trust not the poet's rh^^me, 

'Tis but the story of a phantas3''; 
Discordant natures ma3^ the sweetest sing 

And angels never can come down to thee." 

The poet's rhyme holds more for me to-day 
Than when a maiden, for his world is mine; 

And angels oft have signaled on the way 
B_v man^' a token, and a living sign. 

And the sweet music of the human voice 
When echoing forth some soulful melody, 

Lifting sad lives to hope, and peace, and joy, 
Ne'er as to-dav, has had the charm for me. 

And with a sigh 'twas told to me one da3^ 
That my "love-apples" would all turn to dust; 

And nw fond hopes and fair ideals would lie 
Under the iceberg of a cold distrust. 

Years have been mine since all these prophecies 
Were given to me; but I am loving still; 



84 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

Bnd all my rosy dreams 'neath love's 3'oiitig 
skies 
Have been realities, with hopes fulfilled. 

t^^ ^^r^ ^^^ 



The intelligence that comprehends the demands 
of the times, calls for a church as broad as the 
w^orld, a creed as universal as man, and a belief 
in the progress of everv human soul. 



*^ t^ t^* 

All things possess the language of the spirit. 
If I could know what a flower is, or the won- 
derful process by which it drinks its life from 
the sunbeam or drop of dew, I could know what 
God is. No one who has felt the exhiliration that 
comes in the breath of a spring morning, or the 
life of the running water, A^ocal with the melody 
of sound, but that wants to know the language 
of the spirit. The soul hungers for something 
that cannot be furnished either by reason or 
argument. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 85 



OUR VICTORIES. 



Sometimes 'neatli shadows of defeat we stand 
Among the Victors, who have won the prize; 
And as w^e drop our hapless, empty hands, 
With tears nigh surging to our burning ej^es; 
We do not know the annals of that daj^ 
Ma3^ mark a victory upon the way. 

We may have held to faith on that one time, 
That vanquished demons from the life within; 
And in our struggle, reached a height sublime 
Unconquered by the tempting lure of sin; 
When w^orldly prizes from us slipped away, 
Our Conquered Self was Victor-crowned that day 



86 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



'TIS NO NEW TALE. 



'Tis no new tale; the world has e'er been blind, 
And never known its saviors when they came; 
The honest souls, who played heroic part 
In years now drifted, to the seas of time, 
Were each pursued with foul and deadly aim 
By those, who thought it would not be a crime 
To slay a man, to glorif\^ a God! 
The martyrs perished; now we speak their names 
With tender reverence, and w^e strive to place 
Them, 'twixt the earth and heaven, as souls 

divine; 
We glorify them with uplifted hands. 
And name their daring deeds with whole-souled 

praise. 
We call upon the world to venerate 
That wdiich it hated with contempt and scorn. 

'Tis no new tale; that we repeat to-day; 

The long fierce grapple with the old-time wrong; 

Voices have spoken with tongues of fire 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 87 

And mighty pens have writ in every age, 

Of this world's wickedness and cruel wrongs. 

And for what purpose did the heroes brave 
Beat back the sunshine from their daily lives? 
Why did they mount the scaffold? brave the 

fires? 
Did the3^ then see one single glimmering 
As one bright promise o'er the sands of Time? 

'Tis no new tale — the war with Church and 

vState; 
The arm of persecution — old as time, 
Seeks in each age to limit brain of man. 
We wait for growth, but brains so barren seem; 
Hearts are so pulseless; mortal lips so dumb; 
Is it because, as the true poet saith, 
"Ignorance makes cowards of us all?" 
Man feels through darkness for a hand of help; 
And woman — made almost a perfect seer. 
Through chastening sorrow and fond hope 

deferred. 
Dares dream of purer, brighter, loftier things 
Than she had found within her narrow sphere. 

'Tis no new tale — this war for human rights; 
Field after field has run with human gore; 



88 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

Millions of men have faced the cannon's mouth 
And sworn by heaven, to spill their heart's 

warm blood 
That Freedom might be born. 

Up, through the smoke and carnage of red war 
The screaming eagle, long ago took flight; 
And soaring upward, toward the ether skies, 
Found resting place upon our Nation's Dome, 
And loudly cried: "Freedom to all the Land." 
And still has Freedom all the links unbound? 

'Tis a sad tale, and yet the New Year comes 
With brave prophetic words. Can ye not hear? 
"The light is coming o'er the darkened j)lains;" 
The clouds are thick, we may not see the light 
And yet we feel within our deepest souls 
That the deliverer will surely come — 
The glorious time, when men will swear by 

Truth 
And not with hand upon a palsied heart; 
Not swear by One whom they have never known, 
But by their loyal souls, faithful and true; 
Then they will win their glorious vict'ries all 
Without a sword upon a bloodless field. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 89 

'Twill be a joyous tale — when Justice comes; 
And Peace shall sing her anthems for all men; 
When Tyranny no longer treads upon 
The growing Genius, of a happy age. 
(), speed the time when brotherhood shall reign, 
And man and woman, side b3^ side may rise 
Inspired with love, that makes life beautiful. 
Then shall the children born to this estate. 
Be welcomed to the arms of sheltering care; 
Wealth^' in all that makes this life divine, 
Blessed with the heritage of Truth and Love, 
They cannot know the meaning of the tale — 
The sad, sad tale, the war for Human Rights. 



90 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



WHY. 



Why do we oft withold the loving tribute 
From those who strive to help us day by day, 

With tender, loving, patient service. 
And praise the absent, who are far away? 

Why do we save our rarest, sweetest blossoms, 
To place upon the graves of loved ones gone? 

Knowing that all around us lives grow weary 
Of planting roses, but to gather thorns. 

Why do we think while swift hours past are 
rushing; 
"I have no time to tell my love to-day;" 
When we know hourly some fond heart is long- 
ing 
For just the words our own would like to say? 

Why do we smother tender, sweet expressions. 

That almost reach out lips — love's offerings; 
When we know, within our sight is living 

A soul, that longs for just these blessed things? 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 91 

O, let us pause and clasp the hands outreaching, 
And press the hearts that would beat 'gainst 
our own; 

Life is so short — its sweetest blossoms fading, 
Soon they ma^^ leave us; then we weep alone. 

No one can reasonably den3^ the fact of soul 
communion between people in this world. Dis- 
tance is no barrier; solid walls no obstacle. 
Though thousands of miles intervene, soul finds 
soul and enters into communion whenever 
opportunity is given. Not only do lovers meet 
and hold delightful interviews, and friends hold 
sweet interchange of thought, it not unfrequently 
occurs that those who haA^e become estranged 
meet in the moments of soul meditation, often 
in voiceless language, wrongs have been righted, 
harsh words forgotten, and life made richer and 
more complete by reconciliations that take place 
in the wonderful silence. 



92 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



MINISTRY. 



In my spirit's chamber, hidden, 
Often words to me are given — 
Words whose strange and mystic meaning, 

I can scarcely understand; 
And I wonder how they find me, 
When the din of earth surrounds me. 
Then I feel the tender pressure 

Of a gentle, leading hand. 

To my soul is given visions 

Of bright skies, and fields elysian; 

Then life's shadows seem the curtains 

Through which glimmering star-beams shine; 
And all thoughts of vain regretting 
Turn to happiness, forgetting 
All the sorrow and complaining, 

That my weary hours had known. 

Is it fancy — an ideal, 

That assumes the strangely real, 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 93 

Given but to lure my spirit 

From an hour of anxious care? 
Nay; there comes desire for action, 
And a sense of satisfaction 
Follows, like a benediction. 

Or a soft ''amen" to prayer. 

^7* ^J^ %^r^ 

Our secret desires and ambitions ma\^ never 
materialize to the outer world, their effect on 
our inner, or real life, is the same as though 
they had found expression. We rise and fall in 
the scale of progress by what we think or strive 
to do, as well as by what we sa}', or accomplish 
in deed. 

^^ t^^ t^^ 

No expression of love, truth, or beaut3', can 
touch the soul without making it better and 
happier; and this is religion. 



94 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



GO FORTH MY SOUL. 



Sometimes there comes a partial glimpse to me, 
Of a great world of thought, that lies out 
there; 

I do not seek for it on bended knee, 
I do not ask for it in worded prayer; 

To reach that higher consciousness of things, 

My soul must rise upon unfettered wings. 

Sometimes 'tis given to my sense to know 
That there are truths ne'er writ in earthly 
lore; 
And wond'rous fields just given to my view, 
That man's unaided genius ne'er explored; 
He who would seek those marv'lous, glorious 

things. 
Must rise in soul unfettered on his wings. 

Sometimes there comes from out the atmosphere, 

A whisper I can scarcel^^ understand; 
And just before me in the viewless air 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 95 

I see the shadow of a guiding hand, 
And the strange silence e'er this message brings, 
Go forth, 0, soul, upon unfettered wings. 

I would not wait until the ic3^ seal 
Of death, is set upon my stonj face; 

To know what all these wond'rous glimpses 
mean, 
Just shown to me, while in this dwelling place; 

And so I pray amid these earthly things, 

O soul go forth, unfettered be thy wings. 

9^^ ^^ t^* 

We often hear the statement "I love the truth 
so much, I would die for it." Does it ever occur 
to those who think they would be willing to 
sacrifice so much, that the real test of courage 
and loyalty to a cause, is to be willing to live 
and sacrifice for it — to endure all that is involved 
in that sacrifice? It is not in dying, but in living 
for the truth that tests one's real love and cour- 
asre. 



96 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



HEART TO HEART. 



Sit down I pray thee, by my fireside bright, 
And let us have a soulful talk to-night; 
We'll strive to set each other's heart aright. 

Let's drop, my friend, the masks we daily wear. 

And show each other as we truly are; 

'Twill change so much life's inner atmosphere. 

We know our lives some hidden woes now hold; 
Perhaps 'twere better if they could be told, 
And you and I were lo^^al to the soul. 

I may have erred; if so, I now believe. 
More closely to your heart I ought to live; 
Love scarce is love, that cannot once forgive. 

If we would strive each other's heart to know, 
I'm very sure w^e would not differ so, 
And life's deep currents would more smoothly 
flow. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 97 

My friend, we do not love each other less, 

Because we daily drop some tenderness 

That once was wont our passing hours to bless. 

If we would pause, our truest word to saj^. 
Leaving a moment cares of one short day. 
How many buds would blossom on our way. 

Let us resolve that we will henceforth be 
True to ourselves; then I am true to thee; 
Thou to thy friend, wilt ever loyal be. 

Sweeter our dreams, that w^e have talked to- 
night, 

Brighter the dawn, when comes the morning 
light 

For we have set each other's heart aright. 



98 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



INCOMPLETENESS. 



There are some days that seem so incomplete; 

When emptiness pervades the very air; 
And all we strive to do, or think, or speak, 

Is like a life without an atmosphere . 

There are some days that seem so incomplete; . 

Somehow we miss, w^hat to us never came; 
We feel a disappointment and regret, 

Yet how, or wh}-, perhaps we cannot name. 

There are some da^^s that seem so incomplete; 

As though a duty somewhere, we denied. 
Or in our selfishness, o'erlooked a deed 

That would have made our heart more satis- 
fied. 

Do not the da^'s that seem so incomplete, 
Oft hold some longing, on which we can rise 

Unto that place, where we may find defeat 
And disappointment, angels in disguise? 

May not the sense of incompleteness bring 
A greater life — reveal some hidden spring? 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 99 



THE LOST VOICE. 



Come back to me, sweet voice I heard in dreams; 

A thousand mem'ries did th3^ tone awake; 
And left me sorrowful and wandering 
Speak, sweet voice, speak. 

Come back to me, 'twas as an echo cast 

Upon the swnftly running stream of time; 
And yet it sent me wand'ring through the past, 
That echo-chime. 

The day is sweeter, ah! and dearer too, 

And why 'tis thus, my heart can scarcely tell; 
Somehow it seems some new joy came to me, 
Then sang its knell. 



L.ofC. 



100 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



UNAPPRECIATED BLESSINGS, 



How many beautiful gardens 

We paSvS when days are bright; 
Eager to reach the climbing 

That leads to some mountain height. 
In our haste unmindful of roses 

That greet us on the way; 
Deaf to the music of waters, 

Blind to the fountain's spray. 

How long seems the road to the mountain; 

How the rough stones hurt our feet; 
Our limbs grow wear3^ of climbing 

As w^e scorch 'neath the burning heat. 
But we struggle on, and onward, 

Till hours of day are done; 
And we sink at last discouraged. 

At the setting of the sun. 

In our heart is constant thirsting 
To view the mountain's crest; 



SPIRIT ECHOES, 101 

Though worn out with our journey 

We can scarcely pause for rest; 
So on, as the shadows deepen, 

In torturing pain we rise; 
The way is dark and uncertain; 

So we wait for morning skies. 

Then the hours of vain regretting; 

For on this trail we find, 
The path grows rougher and steeper 

Each moment as we climb. 
We learn the chffs are in cloud-land — 

Cliffs, where we had hoped to stand 
In the midst of the sun's full glory 

On the plains of ''Wonder-Land." 

Weary, and footsore, we backward 

Turn, with the rising sun; 
And we reach the dear old places 

Ere another day is done. 
Content to dwell in the valley 

Where rippling waters play, 
And to care for the little blossoms 

That are given us to-day. 



102 SPIRIT ECHOES, 



MY PRAYER. 



I do not ask that Heaven may bless me more, 
Nor that my path may e'er more even be; 
Nor that the burdens of the passing hours 
Be less to bear; 

But I do pra}^ that I may strive to find 
That larger love, that maketh me more kind, 
More generous, more willing to forgive. 

I also pray that I may turn to Truth, 

As blossoms turn unto the sun 

And grow more beautiful. 

I know that unseen powers reach out to help 

The patient traveler, on the upward way. 

And though his feet may tire at ever3^ step 

And hands grow weary in their holdings here, 

There is a recompense that always comes 

To those who with firm feet press bravely on. 

I also pra^^ that I ma3^ never fear 

To take a truth, for all that truth may mean, 

And stand undaunted, though the world may say, 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 103 

"Behold he hath a wrong." 

This is my prayer; when all of this shall come, 
Then I shall feel that I am large enough 
To ask the gods to walk the earth with me. 

^^ ^T^ ^t^ 

We want, and will accept, all the assistance it 
is possible for us to receive as we ascend the 
jagged pathways of life, but glorious indeed will 
be our achievement, when we are enabled to 
reach the peaks for ourselves, and to look down 
from the clear skies upon the valleys where storms 
swept and the floods came. The only way to 
reach the highland, is to climb, climb. 

^^ ^3** t^^ 



Why do some reformers put so much stress on 
the term, "Woman's Cause?" Is not woman's 
cause man's cause, and Yice versa? Woman does 
not demand stronger legal protection, but the 
moral protection of brave, strong, pure-minded 
men. Together men and women must rise or 
fall, and be bound or free. 



104 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



CRUEL WORDS. 



They were onlj^ words 3^et they pierced the soul, 
For each was tipped with a venom's sting; 

When once sent forth they were past recall 
And a loving heart fell a bruised thing. 

Like a hot simoon with its fetid breath, 
That withers the fields in a single hour. 

So the scorpion words stung love to death. 
And beautiful dreams of life were o'er. 

There are graves more dark than the yawning 
earth, 

And hearts that are buried more deeply here 
Than under the sod; O, the living death, 

Of human hearts, is the worst to bear. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 105 



SIMILES. 



There are no storms like those that sweep 

Over a soul; 
When passions loose, defiant leap, 

Beyond control. 

There are no floods like those that pour 

Into the heart; 
Hurling its hopes in one short hour 

To ruin dark. 

There is no lightnin'gs lurid gleam 
With such power fraught, 

For the destruction of mankind. 
As evil thought. 



106 SPIRIT ECHOES, 



ANSWERS. 



You ask me, friend, how the Soul's songs are 

born, 
Amid the din of this coarse world of ours; 
How skies can gather tints of rosy dawn 
While clouds are heavy and the storm-king 

roars? 
I answer, friend, O, send 3^our spirit forth 
And you will hear and see things apart from 

earth. 

You ask me why I e'er call Pain a friend, 
When through the veins he sends nothing but wo; 
And threatening ever, with a dagger aimed 
As though he meant to pierce one's vitals 

through? 
I can but answer. Pain great truths reveal; 
Through his inflictions, we oft learn to heal. 

You ask me why the record of lost years 
Should from our life-book, every leaf be torn; 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 107 

Because, my friend, you cannot see through tears 
The brighter pages that are yet to come; 
Turn a new leaf; its page may now be white; 
Not of the Old, but of the New things write. 



I would forever blot out the term "human 
weakness" and in its place substitute that of 
human power. I do not here make use of the 
words divine power, because I know of no power 
morally, intellectually or spiritually, outside of 
man. I would that all the world might forget 
all the miser3^ that has been attributed to human 
Aveakness. I wish it were possible to inspire 
brain and soul with a faith in human possibili- 
ties — a faith that would make man strong in 
the belief that he can rise and become master of 
himself. 



108 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



REACHING FOR SUNBEAMS. 



A laughing boy was on the floor 

Where sunbeams fell so brightly; 
And shadows followed one by one, 

Like fairies dancing sprightly. 
The baby's eyes grew wond'rous bright, 
And he laughed and crowed with sheer delight, 
And struggled to reach, with all his might. 
One little sunbeam prancing. 

The wee white hands were thrust to catch 

The pretty thing, so golden; 
It touched his palm, and then alas! 

The prize was past his holding. 
The fickle sunbeam went away, 
The fairy shadows ceased to play, 
Great was baby's grief that day; 

His hopes and heart were broken. 

Others, than babies often reach 
To empty air, for prizes; 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 109 

And wiser ones than they, have met 

With just as sad surprises. 
For often do we reach for light 
And think the real is in sight, 
And strive to grasp with all our might. 
The phantom in disguises. 

<^* ^5^ <^^ 

If one-half the time that has been invested in 
the effort to prove the one God, had been used 
for the purpose of proving the one Humanity, on 
what a different foundation would our religious, 
political, and social system rest at the present 
time. The church sways the social sceptre; she 
has become the shrine of fashion; she commands 
the worship of the rich. Is this an evidence that 
she is a moral and a spiritual guide? Who can 
truthfully deny that politics is a chess-board for 
gamblers, and that popular society rests on 
conventionalities and shams? 



110 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



RETROSPECTION. 



Brighter and clearer the wa3' appears, 
As I add to the sum of my earthly years. 

Richer my pleasures and sweeter Love's wine 
Than life's goblet held in its sweet Spring-time. 

Some hopes were buried 'mid blinding tears, 
But others were born for coming 3^ears. 

Each day with its lessons to me proves, 
Less cause for hatred and more for love. 

Some clouds have deepened in days gone by; 
I have always found a gleam in the sky. 

The longer I live, the more I see. 

There's a purpose in all that comes to me. 

Life is too short to waste in regret; 
All but the helpful, I strive to forget. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. Ill 



LOST IN THE AIR. 



You ask me to reproduce the words 

That fell on your ear, once on a time; 
When all the depths of my soul were stirred 
And my thoughts were set to flowing rhyme. 
'Twas the breath of a soul 
It was lost on the air, 
Beyond my control, 
I know not where. 

You ask me to repeat the song 

That woke a mem'ry seldom stirred, 
In that blest hour when unseen hands 
Touched tenderly life's inner chord; 
'Twas the voice of a soul 

And it drifted away 
Like the water that rolls 
And is lost in the spray. 



112 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE ANNIVERSARY OF MODERN SPIRIT- 
UALISM OR THE SPIRITS' EASTER. 



We bring you joyous greetings friends, 

From our home across the way; 
We have bridged the stream of death with 

flowers, 
Whose lives were nursed in spirit bowers, 
May they unite our love with yours, 

On this our Easter Day. 

You ne'er had learned that love died not. 
Your souls with grief were stirred; 

Your eyes were dim — your constant pra^^ers 

Were wails of grief and deep despair; 

Your loved had gone; you knew not where 
Till the faint rap \vas heard. 



A rap — a little rap at last; 

So strange — so wierd a thing; 
Who knew its meaning? Who could tell 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 113 

Whether the omen was good or ill? 
From saint in Heaven, or fiend in Hell, 
Who would answer bring? 

Again, again the strange sound came; 

At last in a child's own way, 
With mingled feelings of joy and fear. 
She said: ''Mamma it can see and hear" 
(Not dreaming the spirit so near,) 

''And it knows, too, what I say." 

The greatest truth of a living age; 

Sought by priest and seer, 
Given at last by a little child. 
Spoken by lips that knew no guile. 
Giving to man the proof the while 

The so-called dead were near. 

It met the scorn of earthl^^ powers. 
But its voice could not be stilled 

It proved the dream of centuries, 

The sacred garner of hopes and fears; 

This message brought from the spirit spheres 
The pulse of the soul-world thrilled. 

Faith is no more a wanderer blind, 
Her QjQS with radiant light, 



114 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

Are catching t^ieams from the other shore, 
She sees the loved who have gone before, 
And bends a mourner in crape, no more, 
She has knowledge of touch and sight. 

Aye, this is the Spirits' Easter Day, 

Then let the joy-bells ring; 
Your friends are coming now to earth, 
Mortals, let your songs go forth, 
While we proclaim the higher birth. 

And our Te Deums sing. 

•5"' •^ •?* 

Spiritualism is sometimes called "The Gospel 
of Love." I am sometimes led to enquire if some 
of our Spiritualist friends have not given the 
wrong interpretation to the *' Gospel of Love," 
or to the Spiritual Philosophy. 

«^ *?• «^ 

Books should never be used as prisons in which 
to confine one's thoughts, but rather as keys by 
which to unlock them. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 115 



UNDISCOVERED TRUTHS. 



It does not follow because we are unable to 
communicate with the inhabitants of the un- 
seen world, that such beings, and such a world 
do not exist. Man has always lived in an ocean 
of air, but for centuries he knew no more of the 
component parts of the atmosphere he breathed, 
than fish know of the world in which they 
exist. Man with ever unfolding capacities, has 
not only been able to analyze the air he breathes, 
and to fathom the world wherein exists the 
finny tribe, he has reached out into the soul 
world, and comprehended in a partial sense, the 
wonderful realm that lies out there beyond the 
ken of material sight and sound. The inhabi- 
tants of that world have become tangible to 
him, and his communication with them are as 
much of a realit3^ as the communication he holds 
with the inhabitants of earth. It may be im- 
possible for the majority of the denizens of 
this world to comprehend these facts. The 



116 SPIRIT ECHOES. 

long dark cable whose pulsating arm stretched 
through the ocean waters, carries hourly, mes- 
sages to the Old World, and brings back their an- 
swers. The dwellers in the briny deep, have no 
comprehension of this, nor do they know any- 
thing of the sea of air, the world above their 
own, where man lives. The weakest position one 
can take in the discussion of spiritual things, is 
the one based on the statement, ''I know it is 
not true, because I have not seen." 

Every life has some experiences, which, when 
translated, might become rare, sweet poems. 
Strip existence of its poetry, romance and 
emotions, and each vrould become a mass of 
shapeless objects. 

t^^ t^r^ t^^ 

There is within every soul an inner voice that 
speaks betimes, when harsher sounds are hushed. 
Every life might become a revelation if its possi- 
bilities were understood. 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 117 



A PICTURE. 



I looked out on the calm and restless sea 
At sunset's hour, the waves were touched with 
gold, 

That seemed to fall from heaven like drapery 
And cover the vast deep, like fold on fold; 

And boats at rest with furled sails seemed to be 

Upon the bosom, of that golden sea. 

The night came on, and curtains soft and grey 
Fringed w4th the moonbeams, touched the silent 
sea; 

I wondered if in heaven's cr^^stal bay 
A fairer sight for eye could ever be. 

I fancied that somewhere, sometime our barques 
would rest 

Within a harbor, on a sea as fair; 
That tear-dimmed eyes would brighten at the last 

And lives most weary, rest a while from care; 
And longing souls might dream an hour away 
Within the harbor of a moon-kissed bay. 



118 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



THE YOUNG AND THE OLD. 



Some say there are no hours so blest as those 

That give to youthful lovers rosy dreams; 
That then, as nevermore, enchantment throws 

A wond'rous beauty o'er all earthly things. 
And thus the maiden sings of "Love's Young 
Dream," 
And meets response in some swain's tender 
breast; 
And when he crowns her as his heart's dear 
Queen, 
They sing together, ''Love's Young Dream is 
Best." 

But there come da3'S — dear, bright golden days, 
When lives grow old, and if proved true when 
tried. 
They hand in hand walk down a sun-crowned 
way, 
With hearts most tender, beating side b3^ side. 
They loved the dreams of life's fair, rosy day 



SPIRIT ECHOES. 119 

When ''Love's Young Dream" made all their 

moments blest. 
But grown more beautiful, in all life's changing 

way, 
They sing as sweethearts "Old Love is the 

Best." 



t^ j^ ^ 

Spiritualism w411 have achieved the greatest 
triumph for its adherents, when it has so raised 
the tenor of thought that we recognize we are 
spirits here and now. Then w411 its great purpose 
be accomplished, and Spiritualism will begin to 
Spiritualize the world. 

t^^ e^* ^5*' 

Spiritualism has raised the grade of fiction 
until hundreds of authors are enabled to lead 
their readers into the w^onderfully real realms, 
while the readers themselves, suppose they are 
revelling in the fancy of some gifted genius. 



120 SPIRIT ECHOES. 



TO THE EVANGELS OF TRUTH. 



Go forth, and iTia3^ your gracious errands be, 
Fraught with good gifts to dear humanity; 

Unbind the chains of slavery and wrong, 
Make souls too large for envy, hate and scorn; 

Encourage goodness, teach to do, and dare; 
Nerve brains to act, and struggling souls to bear. 

If heavcn-commisioned 3'ou would always be, 
Before no tyrant ever bow the knee; 

Baptize the world with dearer, sweeter love; 
A beacon-light, in darkest pathways prove; 

True to the calling of the living hour. 
Go forth! And heaven shall give you grace and 
power. 



fBfjfi. f 9t wp^"^ 



JAN J 1902 



1 COPY DEL. lot/* ...y, 
JAN. 7 1902 



